


Greenhouses and Goodbyes

by Marvella15



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Spoilers for Episode 2x02: The Green-Eyed Monster, Spoilers for Episode 2x03: Warp and Weft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvella15/pseuds/Marvella15
Summary: “Surely you don’t mean to part so simply, Lord M.”





	1. Lord M

 

**Lord M**

 

In another life, he might have been a gardener. Or perhaps retired years ago and spent all his time tending his flowers. They were fickle things but so worth the effort. He loved the colors, the smells, the varieties and variations.

The Queen had a habit of surprising him and yet he could not deny the pleasure in having her here, in his refuge, as he had called it. It felt like a dream to see her surrounded by his flowers, their vibrancy adding to her own. She looked mythical, walking amongst them, like a kind of goddess.

He was unprepared to receive her. His jacket was… somewhere. There was dirt under his fingernails and on his hands, even after rubbing them with a cloth.

“Perhaps, you'd allow me to show you my collection,” he had said hopefully, meeting her eyes brightly as he’d moved passed.

So now The Queen followed him eagerly around the greenhouse, pausing often to contemplate this flower and that plant. She studied so many of them with genuine interest he wondered if sometimes she wished she had been born into other circumstances too. What a different life they would’ve each had. Humbler, harder, but maybe with fewer restrictions.

He wished they had more time. He wished it were appropriate to show her how to plant and cultivate and bring natural color into her world. He felt certain she would love it.

While she gently caressed the petals of an orchid, Melbourne stared at her wistfully.

“You have taken great care with them,” she said in a subdued tone.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said hoarsely, still watching her intently. There was a faraway look on her face. What memories did the flowers carry for her?

As if in answer to his silent question, she extended a hand to him, her eyes never leaving the flowers. Without thought, he took a step closer to be within her reach. Always drawn to her.

His hands were still dirty. Hardly fit to touch her white gloves. But he had never been able to deny The Queen very much and when she glanced quickly at his clasped hands, he relented easily and took hold of her waiting hand.

The Queen blinked slowly, contentment now evident in her features. “It is right that you should grow such beautiful flowers, Lord M.” The fullness of her voice made him resist the urge to kiss her hand and tell her nothing in this greenhouse was more magnificent than her. She turned to look at him. “It suits you.”

“You flatter me, Ma’am,” he chuckled, ducking his head lest she see those truths on his face.

“Yes,” and she smiled at him kindly. “I know how susceptible you are to flattery.”

His eyebrows and lips quirked with pleasure at her words. In unison, he and The Queen sighed.

“Come,” she said, tugging on his hand before releasing it. “Show me the remainder of your collection.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “And perhaps you will tell me why you have come all this way.”

She gave him a sidelong look.

“As much as I would like to believe it is for my flowers, I do not think you would flatter me _quite_ that much,” he teased.

The Queen hummed and tilted her head as she considered him. Melbourne he was far too old to feel even remotely flustered at such a look and yet…

She walked in front of him, worrying her hands together. “I have come to ask your advice.”

“I am no longer in politics, Ma'am, it would be wrong for me to advise you,” he said practically.

“It's not the kind of advice I need.”

Melbourne waited for the other shoe to drop.

“I want to talk to you about marriage.”

_Oh._ How could he possibly... “There too, I'm hardly qualified-”

“Well, I've come to you, nevertheless,” she interjected. She looked downcast. Would there ever be a time it wouldn’t pain him to see her in such discomfort? He knew the answer all too well.

“I find myself in a difficult position,” she continued. “I am a Queen and a wife. And to be a Queen, I must rule. Yet to be a wife…”

He smiled sadly at her because he knew the words before she said them. Knew what they would be the moment he had met Prince Albert years ago.

“...it seems I must submit.” The disappointment in her tone cut across him.

“I see,” he choked out in reply. He held his hands tightly, nodding to himself. “Let’s walk, hmm?”

He led her in front of him, his hand hovering between her shoulder blades. They strolled as easily through his greenhouse as they once rode through the park. And she spoke just as freely. Once she began, the words seemed to come more readily. He felt guilty for having left her with no one else to confide in until he remembered. That was supposed to be her husband’s job.

She told him about Albert and Robert Peel. About the frustrations of being pregnant and the even greater frustrations after the princess was born. In everything she said, he sensed the undercurrent of worry, of confusion, and of a lack of support by the people from whom she needed it most.

In spite of himself, Melbourne felt a growing regret that his wish for her husband to appreciate her had gone somewhat ungranted. The Queen had spent much of her life being controlled, being pushed aside and made to feel worthless but for whom she could marry, what prestige she might bring to others. He wished it was within his power to never make her feel that way again.

“When I was confined, it was a relief to know Albert would look after the boxes,” she said, removing her gloves and hat as Melbourne nodded. “But now I feel…”

“That he would still like to attend to them? Oh, I see,” he said, reading her expression. “You would rather he did not, I assume.”

They sat opposite one another and he was reminded of another time she had surprised him at his house. They were both younger then, more outspoken, their emotions just beneath the surface, and he was slightly more disheveled. He leaned forward now, listening intently, but wondering, in the back of his mind, how often anyone else listened to her like this.

“He wants us to have a big family, as does Uncle Leopold, of course,” The Queen continued. “But I'm afraid, Lord M. Why does Albert want us to have more children? Is it so that I will always be out of the way and he can be King?”

And now they were getting to the root of the issue. Melbourne’s brow furrowed in concern, and he swallowed down a lump in his throat as he searched for a way forward.

“Do you remember when you asked for the title of King Consort for the Prince?”

“You said that once people got into the way of making kings they would get into the way of unmaking them.”

“There was another reason.” He shifted in his seat as he brought the confession forth, everything spilling out at once. “I did not want you to be overshadowed, Ma'am. Yes, the Prince is your husband, but you are The Queen.”

The understanding in her eyes made him proud but the sadness there made him want to take her hand again. “He thinks he would do it better,” she said plainly.

“Well, he wouldn't be the first man to underestimate a woman, would he?” Melbourne joked in an attempt at levity.

The Queen sighed deeply. “He is so able,” she said, almost as though the notion were excuse enough for her husband’s actions. “There are so many things I've never been taught.”

“Knowledge is not wisdom, Ma'am,” he said reassuringly and with complete conviction. “You have an instinct for what you must hold on to.”

“I find it hard,” she whispered, her voice dropping with emotion. “The other evening, when Albert was talking to Lady Lovelace about decimal places, he looked so happy.”

Ah, and here was the other root of the issue. “Oh, come now. Such suspicion is beneath you.”

But The Queen didn't look convinced and he could not bear to see her so worried. “Besides, if a man is intent on flirtation, in my experience, he does not tend to resort to mathematics.”

There, finally, was a laugh. Melbourne smiled to hear it.

“I have missed you, Lord M,” she said with another sigh. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear it.” He did not comment on how much he missed her. On how she made him feel better even when his troubles were far more difficult to cure than hers.

The Queen stood up and he quickly followed. “I think I need some air.”

“Yes, it is very hot in here,” he agreed, unconsciously stepping closer. The pull of her gravity still so strong.

“I fear it is more than that,” she said quietly, glancing down. She looked vulnerable, those expressive eyes wide with concern.

There was nothing for him to do but take her hands. It was soothing beyond measure to feel her soft skin in his. He was pleased to find they fit together as seamlessly as ever before.

“You are the Sovereign, Ma'am. We your subjects.” He ran his thumb along the back of her hand, imploring her to believe him. “Whatever trials you may endure, nothing will ever change that.”

The Queen exhaled softly. “I wish you were not so absent, Lord M.” She held his hands a little tighter.

“I know, Ma’am,” he said, his voice thick, and he looked down. “I will try.”

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” she said resignedly.

He smiled at her. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of taking some flowers back with you.”

He hurried away until he found what he was looking for.

“They are beautiful, Lord M,” she said, accepting the red flowers he offered her and inhaling their scent. “As always. What are these called?”

“Aster flowers. So called for their star-like appearance. Fitting for the queen, I think.” One corner of his mouth curled upwards as their eyes met.

“Indeed.” She regarded him thoughtfully, her mouth twitching curiously. She seemed to be waiting.

“Is there something else, Ma’am?”

The Queen laughed lightly. “Surely you don’t mean to part so simply, Lord M.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ma’am?

She stepped nearer again. “Last time we said goodbye, I believe you kissed me,” she said, eyes glinting. “Here,” and she touched her cheek.

Melbourne flushed at the memory. It had been a reckless indulgence. A calculated risk that he could kiss her once, innocently, and walk away unscathed.

“Oh, um, Ma’am, I- I don’t-” he cleared his throat, aware of the heat on his face and neck. “That is, the situation was-”

The Queen’s eyes lit up even further. Smiling ruefully, she moved as close as they had ever been and laid a hand on his bare forearm. When she turned her cheek ever so subtly to him, how could he possibly protest?

Bowing forwards, Melbourne touched his lips to her cheek for the second time. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Warm lips on warm skin. The scent of his flowers in the air around her. His fingers curling around her arm just below the elbow. The ache in his chest was silent for a moment. He had missed this.

They had barely parted when she pressed his arm, inducing him to meet her eyes. She was still smiling and he returned it a bit dreamily. Her expression softened in time with his own.

“Now that we have said _our_ goodbye,” she said regally, drawing herself up, “you may walk me to my carriage and say a formal one.”

He chuckled softly. “In that case, Ma’am...” He drew her arm through his and led the way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I randomly wrote part of his fic [ in my tags](http://marvella15.tumblr.com/post/164803333307/last-time-victoria-and-lord-m-saw-each-other-they) on a vicbourne post a few weeks ago. I knew I needed to do it justice.


	2. Victoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was with piercing sorrow that she let herself acknowledge the grief and finality in his face. It would not do.

 

**Victoria**

 

The carriage bumped along the path. She had told the driver to hurry. Next to her, the cage rattled but she didn’t pay it much mind. Looking out the window, she saw Dover House come into view and took a steadying breath.

It seemed years ago that she had requested Lord M meet her before she ran off to her husband and into the next chapter of her life. She had wanted to have a moment alone with him to speak as frankly as decorum allowed and as honestly as he deserved. And to say goodbye.

Now she rushed into his home for the same purpose, hardly allowing herself to be announced before she was striding towards him. The duration of the carriage ride had been spent composing herself. As she extended her hand for him to greet her and Lord M grasped it in both of his and devotedly kissed it, she felt that composure already slipping. Victoria turned away before inviting him to sit.

“I have brought you something,” she said brightly, removing her gloves, and hurriedly carried the gift over to him.

“You just wind it up here,” she said, crouching to demonstrate, “and you can have music whenever you want.”

He wasn’t looking at her but at the device. Perhaps that was best for already her voice was betraying the true intent of her visit. When he did turn his head towards her, a wry smile played at his lips, some of the old humor drifting back into his expression.

“Mozart,” she continued. “Your favorite.”

“It's most ingenious, Ma'am.” He shook his head and frowned. “But may I ask, what have I done to deserve such a magnificent gift?”

He was testing her, she knew. Seeing what excuse she might give, of how much she was aware.

“I thought you might like to listen to it sometimes. When you are at Brocket Hall,” she replied, all but choking on the answer.

Lord M watched her closely and Victoria felt her resolve deteriorating.

“I shan't be able to travel much soon.” Her breathing was coming more rapidly as she struggled to speak calmly. “And so I wanted you to have something to remind you…”

 _Of me_ , she wanted to say.

But the words caught in her throat. Lord M’s eyes flicked over her face, which she knew was too wide and expressive to be deceptive. At the bottom of her gaze, she saw him turn the hand drooping off the armrest so that it was palm up.

Victoria met his eyes again and then smiled tightly. She slid her ungloved hand into his waiting one and nearly cried when his fingers wrapped around to hold her. He had always known how to best comfort her, even when she was supposed to be comforting him.

“Of all the fun to be had in London when you choose to return,” she finished thickly.

“That's most thoughtful,” he said, his voice brittle. His eyes danced over her again and she registered the pride in that look. “It is a beautiful thing.”

With his attention back on the wind-up bird, Victoria released his hand and stood, glancing away an instant to gather herself. She did not like to see the effort it took Lord M to stand with her.

“These are such difficult times,” she said in a watery voice, looking around aimlessly. “I... I wish you were not so far away.”

“Oh, I feel quite certain that you can manage without me now, Ma'am.”

How to explain to him that she did not wish to manage without him? That she had never wished that? Their time was running so short now.

“You will write to me?” she said, keeping up the thin narrative to which they had silently agreed.

He swallowed roughly. “Yes,” he replied, a bit wobbly. “Yes, of course.”

“When you return from Brocket Hall, we must go riding in the park-” her voice dropped lower- “like we used to.”

A lightness came back into Lord M’s face. “Such talks we had, Ma'am.” His eyebrows perked up at the memories. “I learnt so much from you, you know.”

“You learnt from me?” she said in breathless disbelief.

“More than you can imagine,” he answered without hesitation. It sounded like a confession. The tears in her eyes hovered on the precipice.

His gaze was transfixed on her and full of that pride again and something else she’d seen before. In the hallway of the palace the last time they’d said a sad goodbye. On the dance floor when she was dressed as Elizabeth. At Brocket Hall.

Victoria struggled to decide what else to say. She knew if she turned away, she wouldn’t be able to turn back. And so she looked at him a long time, as long as either of them could afford.

He was still handsome even with his kind eyes rimmed with red and filled with tears. He was the same man who had swept into a room to give a young queen his deference, his friendship, and his fidelity. The man who had smiled at her and cared for her when no one ever did and who had brought laughter and light into her world. He would always be such to her.

It was with piercing sorrow that she let herself acknowledge the grief and finality in his face. It would not do.

Her gloves were balled into one hand still and thus it was with bare fingers that she caressed his cheek. Tenderly and uninhibited, her fingertips drew a curve across that defined cheekbone and down to his jaw. Once, such intimacy would have been folly for them both but it could hardly matter to anyone now. This was time and expression all their own. No one else need intrude.

Lord M’s mouth bobbed but he could not speak and she didn’t wish for him to. The time for words between them was over. Their moment had passed under the cries of rooks and the smell of orchids.

She didn’t need words or another waltz with him. She needed this. Closeness and intimacy they had rarely allowed themselves to have. She wouldn’t ask him to say goodbye like in the greenhouse. She couldn’t ask that of him now.

Lord M tucked in his chin but could not stop the tear from slipping down his cheek and onto her hand. He shook his head, the movement so small, as though it were unconsciously done. Victoria stepped closer.

The heat of him was so familiar to her. Even as her heart thudded harder, she felt safe. Safe enough to lay the hand holding her gloves on his chest. To rise up on her toes and let her other hand brush into the hair at his temple.

Stretching up to reach him, she moved slowly but with surety. As slowly as he had onced moved to kiss her cheek. And she kissed him just as lightly as he had, lips making the barest impression on his damp cheek. A new surge of sadness stuck in her chest at the salty taste on her lips so that she could hardly breathe. Two fingers clutched his lapel to steady herself.

If before their individual pretenses had been flimsy, now they flitted away entirely. He knew that she knew. They would say nothing, of course, but they each knew.

In the next instant, he clasped her hand and held it to his chest. The action had the strange effect of almost making her sob and simultaneously renewing her confidence. It was as if he was giving her every vestige of courage he himself possessed. And she put it to good use.

Eyes closed, she turned her head, still so slow, so purposeful, to find his lips. He must’ve known her intent, he could hardly have mistaken it, and yet at the smallest brush of her lips on his, he inhaled sharply.

Her fingers clenched against his chest, afraid he would pull away, afraid she had hurt him, and she could not bear either. All the risk being taken was her own, all the impropriety on her own conscience, sovereign or not. Her other hand moved soothingly through his hair and down to his neck and shoulder.

More than anyone, Lord M knew her mind. It made him an invaluable friend and adviser and drew a line of connection between them she was unlikely to ever experience with someone again. So when his hand slid onto to her waist, its weight and warmth equally welcome, it was relief that rushed through her. He knew her still.

He drew himself closer to her and pressed his lips against hers. When she responded in kind, she felt his chest drop.

The kiss was simple, unhurried, and wholly insufficient to relay the depths of her feeling for him. The joy, the gratitude, the affection and care she felt.

The love.

 _I shall never forget_ , she’d told him, and meant it as much now and she did then. Perhaps moreso.  

She never imagined this was how their first kiss would be. Sad and sweet and bursting with unspoken truths. She had never imagined their first kiss would be their only. Their last.

The knowledge was agony and sat sourly in her stomach. It made it difficult to pull away because all that was left to do once she did, was to leave him. But she knew if one of them had to break the embrace first, it must be her. For once, she was glad to be his strength, as he had so often been hers.

Victoria pulled back from the kiss. The hand at her waist slipped away.

Leaning her forehead against him, she let herself savor the heat of his breath and the scent of his skin for a long, luxurious moment. She was grateful he had not let go of her hand on his chest quite yet. She kissed his other cheek quickly.

“Just once,” she said, the words a mere whisper between them, faint and temporal. But the look in his eyes when she leaned back to see him, the love as clear to her now as ever before, told her he would remember everything. She stepped away, and he let go of her without protest.

The goodbye hung over them, obtrusive and unavoidable. Lord M smiled, his whole face transformed into something brighter, his gaze alive with affection. Victoria hardly had time to smile back before he blinked and seemed to realize the time was upon them. His expression fell and he raised his eyebrows, head tilting slightly, as if pleading with her to do what he could not.

“Goodbye, Lord M,” she said hastily, seeking to end their shared sorrow as soon as possible.

She didn’t wait for him to reply. She knew he could not. Would not. His gaze was already downcast. Instead, she clasped his hand in hers one last time and was glad he found it within himself to hold hers in response. With a squeeze of his hands, she turned to go and was stayed only briefly by the insistent need for one more look, one last word, one final touch.

But no. She had already looked away. They had already had their goodbye. If she were to turn back to him now, it would be impossible to keep herself from sobbing, from falling into his arms. As swiftly as her heavy heart would allow, she strode out the door and to her carriage.

She didn’t see Lord M wipe a tear from his face or press his hand to his lips in reverence.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Victoria were my show, things would be much different. 
> 
> Thanks to elloette for being a wonderful beta, as always.


End file.
